


Wärme erleichtert das Einschlafen

by Cherrytreegirl



Series: Es gibt viele Faktoren die das Leben beeinflussen können [8]
Category: Das Boot (TV 2018)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Period Typical Attitudes, Period-Typical Homophobia, WW2, enemies to not enemies who sorta kinda care about eachother, finally some good shit happening for once, i am a sappy bitch, i'm still bad at tagging lol, no beta we die like Sam Greenwood, this part is extremely soft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-17
Updated: 2021-02-17
Packaged: 2021-03-12 18:15:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,435
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29513766
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cherrytreegirl/pseuds/Cherrytreegirl
Summary: These people have seriously good eyes, I am jealous. The ocean is really really big and I can barely read a clock on the wall.
Relationships: Klaus Hoffmann/Karl Tennstedt
Series: Es gibt viele Faktoren die das Leben beeinflussen können [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2118996
Kudos: 8





	Wärme erleichtert das Einschlafen

**Author's Note:**

> Finally, part 8!  
> I know this isn't a play but I'm going to use theatre lingo real quick. We have now reached the end of the first act and I am currently thinking about making a bit of a change in how I post this. Should I make a singular story with chapters? I will be reviewing the story so far over the next days, possibly making changes (as well as translating the first chapter back into English, idk why I even made it German) and would then uploading it spereately adding the next chapters onto it? Let me know if that's a good or a bad idea.
> 
> Alright, now have fun!

It was long before sunrise when Hoffmann woke up, he was still tired, exhausted really. As much as he would have liked to back to sleep though, he found himself unable to, he was absolutely freezing his balls off.

The wind had picked up in both velocity and intensity, the temperature had plummeted close to zero. He could almost see small clouds as he breathed out and the cold air stung in his lungs.

Although their jackets were windproof and the layered clothing provided some warmth, the coldness still crept into his bones, numbing his fingers, it felt like he was standing butt naked somewhere in the permafrost. Those poor bastards in Russia, hopefully their jackets were a little thicker.

No matter how hard he tried to heat up, rubbing his limbs to encourage increased circulation, curling up as small as possible, nothing really helped. If only he had some sort of portable heater or something.

His eyes landed on the sleeping Tennstedt next to him, he was equally shivering, limbs tucked closely to his body.

Oh.

He scooted closer.

“What’re you doing?” The 1WO’s voice was sluggish.

Hoffmann wrapped one arm around his waist.

“Sharing body heat is one of the most effective ways for staying warm.” Chest to back.

“If you say so, Herr Superschlau.”

Tennstedt was quite obviously too cold and too tired to argue right now, and maybe, just maybe he also enjoyed it a tiny bit (he would never admit that, of course).

If it really was all that effective, Hoffmann had no idea, but it certainly was extremely comfortable and very warming, not just physically.

Humans are social animals, they need touch, physical contact, to survive, else they go insane. The fuzzy feeling in his stomach was a completely normal reaction, especially since he hadn’t had a good soft hug in a while, and had nothing to do with whom he was holding in his arms. They were both touch starved, well, starved of soft, gentle touch. The last time he’d let his mother hug him was well over a year ago. Yes, a completely normal reaction, no feelings involved here.

He buried his head in the 1WO’s shoulder, breathing in his scent. He could’ve said something bloomy, like, Tennstedt smelled of home, masculine. But the reality was, they both needed a bath, the sweat still lingering on them. Yet it felt reassuring, comforting.

Hoffmann practically drowned in the sensation, not the panicked drowning in rough waves pulling you under, it was more like slowly sinking into warm honey, sickly sweet caramel flooding his lungs, amber tree sap enveloping him like an insect in Bernstein,

When he awoke in the morning, eyes still closed, it took him a moment to orient himself. Hoffmann was clasping the front of Tennstedt’s jacket in his hands like a lifeline and Tennstedt had placed his hand in an equally firm but also gentle grip on the Kaleun’s hip.

Otters held onto one another when sleeping on the water, to avoid drifting apart in the currents. But they weren’t otters, otherwise they’d have to start gifting each other pretty rocks to smash open shells soon. (Humans aren’t that different in this department either, jewellery is nothing but pretty rocks, although it probably shouldn’t be used to open canned food.) That was completely off-topic though, this wasn’t a class in Zoology, what he was realizing here was that Tennstedt was **holding him.**

Hoffmann was scared to open his eyes, fearing he was still dreaming and the sensation would disappear once he woke up, he hated to admit it, but he really enjoyed the feeling, the heat, the electricity-like buzzing under his skin, streaming throughout his body from where the 1WO’s hand lay.

It was irrational to think the warmth would disappear, Tennstedt was likely still fast asleep (Hoffmann had always been the first to wake up for the last few days). Otherwise, he’d surely have pulled away too, the sun had already risen, Hoffmann felt the first rays tingling on his face. The winds had slowed again, there really wasn’t a need to stay so close anymore.

Slowly, he opened his eyes.

And was met with bottomless blue.

Tennstedt was, in fact, awake and made no effort to let go.

How long exactly they had just lain there in silence, he couldn’t say (had he checked his watch or looked at the change in the suns position he could probably have pinpointed it rather precisely, but that would not have been as ominous and poetic, he was far too lazy for that too), but it hardly mattered anyway. Time, like other things, had lost its meaning out here somehow. There was no routine anymore, no deadlines to meet. All the day was divided up into was hours of waking and sleeping. It had only been four or five days, for all he knew Germany could have already won the war, or lost it for that matter, it really did not matter in the least. This was their little world now, a rubber boat in the ocean, water all around them and nothing but endless skies above.

The 1WO’s eyes looked calm, melancholic in a way. Doubtful. Very carefully Hoffmann let his fingers brush over the man’s cheekbone, ghosting over the stubble on his skin, along the sharp jaw, all the way to his slightly parted soft lips. In that moment there was nothing he wanted to do more than feel that gentle mouth on his, slowly, with none of the haste and anger their previous kisses had carried. His fingers had wandered back to Tennstedt’s neck, drawing small circles and combing through the short hair, mere centimetres between their faces.

It was as if Tennstedt was telepathic (or maybe he had merely had the same idea), he pulled Hoffmann closer connecting their lips.

This time, he did melt into it, like ice cream on a summer’s day, running over your hand and dripping onto sandy grounds, like a piece of chocolate in a cup of hot milk during an autumnal thunderstorm, like the thin layer of snow on the fields under early spring’s sunshine.

The flowers which bloomed in his stomach would have made a royal gardener jealous, and they certainly attracted hundreds of jittery and joyful butterflies. Had they been standing; his knees would have gone weak.

The intensity of their previous kisses had been wonderful, but it couldn’t compare to **this.** It was much slower, yes, less hungry, but it lacked none of the passion.

What a sap he had turned into.

As much as both of them would have wanted to stay there all day, they weren’t kids anymore, Hoffmann’s body was begging him for a good stretch.

Although the temperature had immensely increased since last night it was still nowhere near summery, the water was **very** cold, but the quick swim was refreshing. After days of mostly sitting around without much physical exercise, he felt joyous to even just make rounds around their boat. Seawater wasn’t exactly very sanitary and the salt certainly stung on the sunburnt skin of his face, it was better than nothing either way, getting all the built-up sweat out of his pores and for the first time since they had been put in that lifeboat, he actually felt not only clean but also hopeful.

Tennstedt had been hesitant, as if he was afraid of drowning, and it took a lot of convincing to get him into the water (“You stink, damnit, get in the fucking water before I pull you in.”), and soap would surely have done a better job at getting them clean (there was a distinct smell of salt and algae on them now) but simply staying sweaty was not an option either.

“Do you see that?”

They were still drying off in the warm sun when the 1WO spotted something off in the distance. Hoffmann did see it; it was a small dark spot on the horizon.

A small dark spot that was gradually getting bigger.

It was a ship.

Once they overcame their stupor they dressed hastily (they may or may not have accidentally swapped some articles of clothing) and gathered their belongings together. Somehow Tennstedt’s Ritterkreuz landed in Hoffmann’s hands again. It felt heavy, heavier than it should be, heavier than it had been before. It was merely a piece of metal, but it seemed to concentrate the weight of their lives, their past, everything into the palm of his hand. The ship, near enough to identify it, was American. Hochseefischer. Civilians. They would have to become different people if they wanted help. This tiny cross made from German iron was definite proof of their parentage, if anyone saw it they would be trapped in their lie.

Enemies.

Freiwild.

The easiest way would have been to just throw it behind him, letting it sink to the bottom of the ocean where so many young men lay, who would have died to wear it (they had died, sunken, but without ever having touched one). Tennstedt hadn’t yet noticed its absence.

“Of course it had to be Americans.” The 1WO snarled, he was most unhappy with the situation. “I’m not fucking begging Americans for help.”

“Oh, would you like to wait for a German ship? Let’s sit back down, I’m sure there will be one coming soon.”

For a moment Tennstedt looked like he was believing what Hoffmann had just said.

“You’re being sarcastic.”

“Nooo.”

“They are the enemy!”

“Look, I am not fucking dying out here because of you stubborn dipshit. The Führer isn’t coming in his private Yacht to save you. Do you want to survive?”

Tennstedt said nothing.

“Glad we could solve that. Now start waving before they miss us.”

They were lucky, the crew took them on board without hesitation, not a single person with military knowledge among them.

Usually, the captain, a middle-aged man with a big grey beard and strong eyebrows, told them, they did not venture out this far but today the weather had been nice and the fish closer by the coast didn’t want to bite.

To the question of how they had managed to get here, Hoffmann told a story about them being swiss businessmen and had been on their way home from the states when their ship was hit by a German torpedo. Tennstedt stayed mostly quiet, only throwing in a stray few words of agreement in broken English ever so often. It was evident he found it hard to follow the conversation, Hoffmann would have to do a lot of translating.

They were given food and water, as well as the spare cot for rest. It would take two more days before they returned to the mainland.

The bed was entirely too small for two grown men to sleep in, they decided to sleep in shifts, Hoffmann would stay up for the remainder of the day, helping out and talking to the crew, whilst Tennstedt got some sleep. The 1WO didn’t say it, but it was clear he wasn’t too eager to hang around a bunch of tough seamen he couldn’t understand, the idea that one of them would always be awake to wake and warn the other seemed to relax him though. In his eyes, Hoffmann was way too comfortable among the men, making light chitchat, they were only civilians, yes, but they were still American which was reason enough for Tennstedt to be wary of them.

The Kaleun thought the best way to assure their safe return to mainland was to get to know the people around them, even if not all their values aligned. (He’d learned the hard way and he definitely did not want to spend another night in a fucking lifeboat.) Pretending to like people really wasn’t that hard, he’d done it a million times, put on a smile and laugh politely. Every social gathering his father had taken him to, ballrooms filled with high-ranking military officers and important party members. Tennstedt barely knew that, his career was built in battle not on expensive Parkett over sickly sweet Champagne.

When Hoffmann returned to the sleeping quarters with the rest of the crew in the evening, he found Tennstedt sat in the cot picking at the hem of his (well, technically Hoffmann’s as he noticed) sweater and staring off into nothing.

While the men got settled for the night, he grabbed his jacket and disappeared on deck without a word. He didn’t return until midnight, his footsteps woke Hoffmann from his relatively light sleep.

It was quite dark below deck but he could just about make out the 1WO’s figure restlessly pacing back and forth. Eventually, he settled on the floor beside their cot, not once looking at the now wide-awake Hoffmann.

“Verdammte Scheiße.” Tennstedt’s words came out choked.

“Scheiße, scheiße, scheiße.”

With shaking hands, he fumbled at the buttons on his collar, trying but failing to open them.

Hoffmann watched him for a while, he was close enough to see the furrowed brows, clenched jaw, so tense his body started shivering, his breathing was shallow and ragged.

“Der Boden ist echt verdammt unbequem.“

Tennstedt turned his head fast enough for to Hoffmann fear he’d break his neck. Wide-eyed, like a deer in headlights, the man stared at him.

Carefully he opened the topmost button on Tennstedt’s shirt and placed one hand on Tennstedt's rapidly rising and falling chest.

“Atmen. Ein, 1, 2, 3, und aus. Ein, 1, 2, 3, und aus.“

The 1WO, although still visibly panicked, followed his lead and his breathing steadied.

“So, und jetzt rein hier.“

Hoffmann lifted the thin blanket they had been given. Tennstedt hesitated, as if in a stupor.

“Na wirds bald?”

It was evident he had barely closed an eye earlier and it stung Hoffmann to think that the man had sat on the cot with a similar sort of panic attack, completely alone, whilst he had been up on deck enjoying himself.

Finally, Tennstedt followed the invitation and crawled under the scratchy wool fabric.

The mattress was tiny and the sad excuse of a blanket barely covered both of them (not that they really needed it, it was decently warm in the room and the heat radiating off of their bodies was quite enough warmth) but they fit together well enough. It was comfortable in a way, the type of comfort that had little to do with your surroundings. Tennstedt relaxed noticeably, his stiff posture becoming more fluid as he buried his head in Hoffmann’s shoulder.

They were alive.

They were (somewhat) safe.

They were going to be alright.


End file.
